hideaway
by possibilist
Summary: "It's not that she's exactly ashamed of having sex toys, because she's a grown woman and she's going to be a junior in college and there is nothing wrong with safe sex, but the thought of Judy finding such a thing makes Quinn want to die." Three times Quinn accidentally leaves sex toys out at decidedly inopportune moments. A dash of Fabrastings, endgame Faberry.


[three times quinn accidentally leaves sex toys out. a bit of fabrastings, faberry endgame. this is entirely fluffy and funny and ridiculous. i had a recent mishap while moving so. i'm still laughing.]

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hideaway

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_last night, you were unhinged. you were like some desperate, howling demon. you frightened me. do it again._

—the addams family

…

She packs her strap-on with the wine glasses, labels the box was thirteen exclamation points. It's not that she's exactly ashamed of having sex toys, because she's a grown woman and she's going to be a junior in college and there is nothing wrong with safe sex, but the thought of _Judy _finding such a thing makes Quinn want to die.

Spencer apparently thinks the whole thing is hilarious: "Literally, if anthropologie sold dildos, this is what they would sell." She waves the six inch hot-pink dildo around, which makes Quinn flush red.

They wrap Quinn's wine glasses—a miss-matched set of two 80s style from a thrift store and two new ones from Target—in newspaper, and then Spencer hands Quinn the strap-on with a gentle kiss.

"Quinn," she says, putting her fingers under Quinn's chin gently, tugging up her downcast eyes. "You know I am so fond of that thing."

Quinn smiles, looking down again and placing the strap-on gently next to the packed glasses. "At least it's not boring black like yours."

"Oh, someone is pushing their luck," Spencer says, snaking her hand from Quinn's bellybutton down into her running shorts. "You were not saying anything about my strap-on being boring last night."

Quinn jumps when there's a knock on the door. Moving out of the dorms and into her own apartment for summer and her last year of school is wonderful, but Judy and her boyfriend, Colin, had insisted on coming down to help.

"Close the box," Quinn says, hurriedly tugging her hair behind her ears, straightening her shirt.

"If Judy only knew what her little girl was—" Spencer shuts the box calmly as Quinn stares her down, walking to the door—"up to," she continues just as Quinn opens the door.

Quinn clears her throat before she gives Judy and Colin quick hugs, and introduces them to Spencer, who smiles and acts as calm as ever.

Moving goes easily enough—Judy and Colin had rented a small UHaul, so it goes quickly. No one lets Quinn carry any boxes over ten pounds, so mostly she rolls her eyes and holds doors open and manages to sneak a couple of boxes of clothes out when they aren't paying attention.

Her new place is little and full of light. It seems to even make Spencer a little happier, and she puts her hand on the small of Quinn's back when Quinn stretches in the fully redone kitchen. Spencer is leaving in a week for Europe for the summer, and neither of them want anything to do with time differences and lack of physicality. Spencer has been distant lately, and Quinn knows that she's tired; it hadn't been an easy year to be with Quinn, not by any stretch of the imagination.

But Quinn smiles—Spencer is here; Quinn is terrible at goodbyes—and tugs Spencer's hips toward her own, kissing her deep enough to elicit a small moan from Spencer, enough so that neither of them notices Colin place the box of wine glasses on the small, lace covered kitchen table.

He makes a strangled sort of laughing noise and Quinn jolts out of the kiss.

Both Spencer and Colin start laughing, and Quinn feels like she's about to cry, but Judy is outside and Colin walks over and holds his hand up for a high-five.

"This is mortifying," Quinn says, but she slaps Colin's hand anyway. He gives Spencer a high-five too, then ruffles Quinn's hair.

"Don't worry," he says, "I won't tell your mom."

He smiles and jabs Quinn playfully in the side, and Spencer wraps an arm around her waist fondly, and Quinn finally cracks a smile.

Eight months later, when Colin asks Quinn and Frannie if he can marry their mother, Quinn says yes without any hesitation, and they exchange high-fives once more.

…

Quinn's year at Oxford under a Rhodes is healing: she loves the rain, she loves her professors, exploring small gray and green towns, splashing around in rainboots, getting to see Rachel perform in London, spending weekends with Rachel in Paris.

She invites her advisor Elizabeth and her husband Matthew over for dinner at her small flat near the end of spring term, mostly as a thank you and also because she's been practicing her Thai green curry for three months now and, as Rachel had proclaimed last week, it's "almost as good as what we can get in New York."

There's something about Oxford—the clouds, all hush—that makes Quinn peacefully tired some days, so when Rachel calls at about five in the afternoon on her way from London, it jolts Quinn out of a curled nap on the couch.

"Shit," she says into the phone.

"Napping?"

"Yes."

Rachel laughs. "Well neither of us got much sleep last night."  
"Rachel."

"Babe. It'll be fine. I'll be there soon and you cook and I'll clean."

"God, I love you," Quinn says, grabbing vegetables and tofu from the refrigerator.

Quinn gets to cooking right away, and Rachel is there soon, with a quick kiss. They have about half an hour before Elizabeth and Matthew are supposed to arrive, and Rachel begins picking up scattered articles of clothing—sweaters, Quinn's leggings, a lace thong, one of Quinn's bras.

The place looks remarkably put together when Elizabeth and Matthew ring, and it smells fantastic. Quinn pushes her glasses up on her nose—in the past two years, her vision had steadily worsened, but Rachel assures her the glasses are adorable—and takes one last look around to make sure everything is in order before letting them up.

Dinner is wonderful—Elizabeth and Matthew are lively, Rachel sings a bit, Matthew teases Elizabeth and Quinn for their incessant chatter. While Quinn and Rachel are clearing the plates from dinner, putting German chocolate cake from the local bakery on a serving dish, Rachel bursts out into a sudden laugh, which she tries to turn into a cough.

Quinn eyes her strangely, and Rachel tilts her head toward Matthew's chair, which has a shiny silver pair of handcuffs dangling from one of the slits. Quinn tries to decide between laughter and tears, and she quickly makes sure her watch and sleeves of her long-sleeved jumper are covering the bruises around her wrists. She stays quiet, not daring to look Rachel in the eye—that would be assured mutual self-destruction.

She brings the cake to the table while Rachel brings French press coffee, and when Matthew stands to use the bathroom after dessert, Quinn fights the urge to cringe. Rachel laugh-coughs into her coffee.

Elizabeth glances over at Matthew as he stands, and then raises her eyebrows at Quinn and Rachel.

"It's good to see that you're getting some activities in other than studies, Quinn," she says, with a completely expressionless face.

Rachel can't hold in her laughter any longer, and she breaks out into it loudly. Quinn puts her hands over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel says through laughter. "I was cleaning up and I was in a hurry and I forgot."

"Quinn, we'll have to work on that now, won't we? Can't have Rachel forgetting something like that again," Elizabeth says, and it seems Rachel's laughter is infectious, because Elizabeth pats Quinn's arm fondly and can't stop herself from letting out peals of laughter.

When Matthew comes back from the bathroom, he asks, "What's all the fuss about?"

"Quinn and Rachel had us all in stitches, positively tied up," Elizabeth says calmly.

Rachel has to excuse herself.

Matthew nods and sits down, apparently not noticing anything. He and Elizabeth decide it's getting late and Quinn goes to fetch their coats.

Elizabeth smiles gently at Quinn before they go, hugging her. "You are by far one of my favorite students and you certainly enjoy a little… _pleasure_ every now and then."

Quinn shakes her head with a half smile, a thank you of sorts. "Thank you for everything."

…

Quinn is in her second year of her MFA at Brown when she has to have serious lung surgery again. Rachel is in the middle of a show, and she'd already missed four performances to stay with Quinn in the hospital, but luckily Santana is currently between touring and recording, so she's free to stay with Quinn for a week when she gets released.

For as spectacular as Quinn's loft is in Providence, there isn't a whole lot of closet space, and while Quinn is curled up on the couch, trying not to drift off, Santana is unpacking her suitcase into a drawer of Quinn's dresser. Quinn is entirely doped up and loopy on pain meds and a plethora of antibiotics, and she's aware that Santana has always enjoyed messing with her, so when Santana says, "Damn, Q. A riding crop?" it makes her confused.

Quinn sits up slowly on the couch, situating her glasses. "What?"

She turns around to see Santana inspecting her 26 inch, red and black riding crop.

Quinn is too medicated to necessarily be embarrassed, and it's also _Santana_, so she says, "Rachel isn't always a fan of it but we talk and everything and I like it, so."

Santana grimaces. "Do you wash this thing?"

"Of course," Quinn says, and she feels herself getting sleepy.

Santana moves her clothes out of that drawer and shoves aside some of Quinn's t-shirts in the drawer below. "I can't decide if this is incredibly disgusting or really hot or entirely expected."

"It's hot," Quinn assures with a nod.

Santana laughs, then shuts the drawer and walks over to the couch and sits down, pats her lap. Quinn lays down happily, and Santana strokes through her hair.

"There are no toys in the drawer I put my shit in, right?"

"They're in my nightstand but the crop doesn't fit in there, you know?"

"I can see that."

"Yep." Quinn's head starts to droop forward.

"Since you're out of it, I may as well ask even though I'm not sure I even want to know."

"Mmhmm."

"What other stuff do you have?" Santana scratches down Quinn's neck and lightly underneath her sweatshirt.

"Candles, um, a gag, a blindfold. Oh, I just got one of those pinwheel things." Quinn dances her fingers lightly on Santana's jeans. "These are soft pants," she says.

She feels Santana laugh. "I never fail to be impressed by how sweet and fucked up you are at the same time, Lucy Q."

"BDSM—" Quinn starts, fighting to keep her eyes open—"BDSM is safe and enjoyable with the right partner and safety measures," she says.

"I still can't imagine Rachel dominating _you_," Santana muses, looking down at Quinn, who shrugs the shoulder not above her stitches.

"She doesn't like it as much as I like being punished," Quinn mumbles, rubbing her nose. "But she loves me."

Santana smiles, gently taking off Quinn's glasses and laying them on the end table. "After all these years, crazy dwarf still does."

"She's beautiful," Quinn says, hugging Santana's leg closer to her, snuggling into as little a ball as she can. "She says I'm beautiful."

"You're a moron. And you're much cuter on drugs." Santana continues to scratch Quinn's back and scalp, and Quinn falls asleep not soon after.

She wakes up a few hours later, when it's dark in the loft. Rachel and Santana are talking quietly in the kitchen, and Quinn wanders over, slightly unsteady on her feet.

"Can I have some scrambled eggs with cheese?" she asks, rubbing her eyes.

"Of course, baby," Rachel says, standing to straighten Quinn's messy hair. "You're feeling a little hungry?"

"A little," Quinn says, which makes Rachel smile.

"Well then eggs are coming right up," she says enthusiastically.

Quinn nods before going to sit at the table, crossing her arms and laying her head down on her elbows. Santana walks over while Rachel gets out a pan from the cabinet.

"You feeling okay?" Santana asks, rubbing Quinn's back.

"It's hurting pretty bad," Quinn says miserably.

"You want to take some more pain medication?"

Quinn sits up slowly. "Rachel will want me to eat first."

"And you apparently are one for pain, after all," Santana says.

Quinn slaps Santana's arm lightly. "Don't make me laugh."

Santana smiles. "Lucid you is way less fun."

Quinn shakes her head and puts her head back down on her arms, closes her eyes.

Rachel brings her eggs over in a few minutes, along with a glass of mango juice and her medication. "Quinn?" she asks.

"Mmhmm?" Quinn tries the eggs, and they taste better than any hospital food.

"I'm going to run to CVS and get your prescriptions filled, okay? But I'll be right back."

"Okay," Quinn says. "Also these are good." She points to the eggs with her fork.

"Don't doubt my cooking skills," Rachel says, kissing the top of Quinn's head before she heads out of the door.

"You know," Santana says, taking a sip of Quinn's mango juice before Quinn stares at her and she puts it down in surrender. "I had a talk with that one earlier, and I'm really glad you have her."

"You're only telling me this because I'm going to be completely high in two minutes," Quinn says.

"Well, maybe in these words. But she's one of the good ones, and I'm glad you finally get to have that, you pretty little fucked up thing."

Quinn sniffles into her eggs, and Santana rolls her eyes.

"C'mon, don't cry."

"But drugged me just cries," Quinn says in the smallest, saddest voice, and it sounds so pitiful she and Santana start to laugh.

"Take your meds and lets get you to bed. You're a mess," Santana says.

When Rachel gets back from the pharmacy, Quinn is snuggled beneath her white duvet, at the edge of sleep. She hears Santana say a few things to Rachel before she grabs a book and heads towards the couch, and Rachel slips off her shoes and climbs in bed, tangling legs and cupping Quinn's face with her hand.

"It's good to see you home," she says.

"I like it here better when you're here," Quinn says, eyes closed. "Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we use the pinwheel thing when I'm better?"

Rachel laughs softly. "Sure."

"Good." Quinn grabs Rachel's hand loosely, without her usual poise. "Oh. And Rachel?"

"What?"

"Thanks for loving me."

Rachel shakes her head. "Despite your IQ and Ivy League resume and your Rhodes, you're an idiot sometimes, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn mumbles, "I love you too," and curls closer into Rachel as she falls asleep.


End file.
